From One Soldier to Another
by Crossroad Avarice
Summary: It was unconventional, but there was nothing against soldiers looking to each other for support. Both had their scars, their problems, their demons - and both needed each other. [Naomi/Vaz][Halo Glasslands/Thursday War]
1. Chapter 1

**Rila:** Broadening my horizons - I don't just watch TCW, y'know. :D Plus I fell in love with Naomi and Vaz's dynamic - it isn't romantic - it's a bit like Rex and Ahsoka's - the connection between two soldiers that could become something else. :) May be a bit OOC, but I think that it's within character because Naomi really does trust Vaz more than anyone else on that ship.

Disclaimer: _Vasily Beloi and Naomi-Zero-One-Zero belong to Karen Traviss, characters soley in the Halo novels: Glasslands, The Thursday War. _

Word Count: 983

Chapter Description: She trusted him to tell her the truth, and now he wished that he hadn't.

* * *

_"I want you to tell me if I should read my file."_ It had been posed in a way that gave him a choice, and he had found that he couldn't refuse. Not when she had a right to know the truth. And so he had agreed. What he had read had not been pretty.

_"I told you this would just make you angry,"_ BB had told him, though the AI's words did little to pacify the anger that had boiled in his veins, his teeth grinding together. What sort of person — no, what sort of _monster_ — did that to someone? Much less six year olds?

Vaz hadn't had much of an opinion on Doctor Catherine Halsey before this — only that she was someone who wasn't held in favor with Parangosky or Osman. But this erased whatever doubts he'd had, whatever grain of salt he'd taken with the things he'd heard. He could not view her as someone to be pitied now.

She's a _monster._

And she was the woman that, for all extensive purposes as she'd grown up, Naomi had viewed as a mother. But Halsey wasn't fit to be anyone's mother — she was, in Vaz's own opinion, a _bitch._

But, no matter how much he wanted to give her what she deserved — which was a one-way ticket to Hell —, he could not. It wasn't out of worry for his milital status — they could shove that right up their asses now that he knew what went on behind the curtain — but for _Naomi._

_"Just go find Naomi._ Go on." BB had been adamant, and he'd stalked out of the room, still seeing red. It was disgusting that someone could take six year olds from their parents and replace them with a clone — one that died not long after.

Vaz was certain there was a special place in Hell for people like Doctor Catherine Halsey. He'd leashed his anger by the time he found Naomi, and all the words he had meant to say had died an early death when she'd looked at him. Despite her status as a Spartan, there had been something decidedly childish in her gaze, anxiety and curiosity clashing as she'd watched him, waiting. "Well?"

He'd swallowed the lump in his throat, braced himself — and let the words fall. Naomi had been stoic throughout the tale, no anger, no sorrow — just blank. And that was what frightened him most, he later realized, after she'd asked him to leave in an eerily calm tone. A part of him wanted to identify it as shock — and he couldn't blame her. He'd known his parents for more than six years. He hadn't had a clone, hadn't gone through what she had.

It had to be terrible. And, from what he had seen before he'd left, she'd simply boxed it away. Pushed it into some dark compartment in her mind, locked away. Maybe that was the Spartan way of dealing with things. Whatever it was, however, Vaz knew it wasn't healthy.

_Why do I care so much?_ It was a question that he asked himself, and he gave himself the same answer he had done with BB. "She's me mate," he answered aloud, a sad mimicry of Mal's accent. A companion in this crazy ride, a comrade — a _friend._

And ODSTs did _not_ abandon friends.

It was why he found himself outside her cabin, fist raised to knock. "It's open," came the quiet response before he could do so, and he stepped forward as the door slid open. Military to the bone just as he and Mal were, Naomi's belongings were few in number and organized, though the woman herself was perched on her bed, staring down at a datapad. "I had BB transfer my file."

Vaz swallowed. There it was again; the eerie, mild tone that warned that something could break at any point. He approached and after a moment, sat down next to her and reached over, tugging the pad out of her hands. She looked up, and Vaz steeled his nerves. "Naomi," he began, fully aware of his lack of experience in comforting someone, "You know that you can talk to me, right?"

Naomi stared, and Vaz cringed internally. Maybe this was why Chrissie had dumped him — he'd never been very good at talking to girls. _Way to go, Vasily._

"I know." Naomi turned away, and for a moment, Vaz thought she was angry at him after all. And then he caught it, the slight shudder of her frame as she inhaled and shifted, still looking away from him. She lifted a hand to her face, and he said nothing about the glimmer of tears as she wiped at them. "Spartans don't cry," she told him, making another pass at her eyes.

Vaz reached for her other hand with one of his own, gripping it. _It's okay_ didn't feel right to say, and so he said nothing. The fingers closing around his in return, however, said that she understood.


	2. Chapter 2

Rila: Just re-read through the scene this covers and honestly, I forgot how much Halsey pisses me off until I re-read it. So sort of interjected my thoughts via Vaz in here. :P Plus some unashamed Mendez appreciation — he's definitely a father to the Spartans and doesn't see them as _his,_ like Halsey does.

Disclaimer: _Because we never got another book after The Thursday War, I'll have something up for that sooner or later. :D_

Word Count: 612

Chapter Description: He'd never hated someone as much as he did her.

* * *

Anxiety.

Despite her calm stride, the faint twitching of Naomi's fingers gave away her internal struggle as they strode across the grass, towards the shapes that were blurry at first and then resolved themselves into several people. There were the bulky shapes of Spartans, a taller older man, and a small woman. Even without proper view of her, Vaz knew who she was.

_Doctor Catherine Halsey._

Almost like a dog on point, the taller man turned in their direction and began moving towards them at a brisk pace, armor-clad Spartans following. Halsey was last, and as they came ever closer, Vaz could see her attention was rooted upon the Spartan beside him. Instinctively he stiffened, risking a glance at Naomi. If she had noticed, it didn't show, her pace still calm and slow.

Halsey began jogging and then broke out into a run. "Naomi?" A muscle in Vaz's jaw clenched at the frantic way that Halsey said her name, as if she were a worried mother and not the monster who'd torn Naomi from her real mother. She slipped past the taller man. "Naomi, is that you? Oh, thank God. I thought you were _dead."_

Vaz's blood boiled. _Don't talk to her. Don't even look at her, you bitch. You don't have any right, after what you've done to her._

His gaze, hidden behind his helmet, traveled over the rest of the Spartans. The larger ones — two females and one male — stepped forward and each clapped Naomi on the shoulder as she pulled off her helmet. There was a certain sense of relief behind the action and Vaz found that he couldn't be angry with them — they were relieved that another of them had not fallen. Naomi, however, regarded them impassively.

Vaz's attention was torn from the Spartans and Naomi as he stepped forward with Mal to flank Osman as she approached Halsey, both of them tugging their helmets off with ease. Halsey's gaze grazed over them and lingered on him, making his skin prickle. _What the hell are you looking at?_ He wanted to snarl, but refrained.

The clap of skin against armor made him turn in time to see the taller man — Mendez, he now recalled Osman saying his name was — enveloping the armor-clad Naomi in an awkward hug. His head bent, and if he was saying something to her, it was too low for Vaz to catch. It didn't seem to upset Naomi, however, as her hands came up to complete the awkward hug.

When she pulled away, Naomi looked a little less stiff and uncomfortable, though the stony look returned when ice-pack blue eyes swept over Halsey. They slid down, locking with his. He watched her, trying to convey a silent question. _Are you okay?_

She seemed to catch it, and there was a slight dip of her head. _I'm fine,_ the action said, but when her gaze returned back to Halsey and flickered with confusion and pain, Vaz was less inclined to believe it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Rila: **I loved this little moment in _The Thursday War._ _'"You're entitled to yourselves," she[Osman] said. "Is Vaz okay?" She could see movement behind Mal in the crew bay. Vaz was sitting up against one of the bulkheads in his tank top with one arm folded across his chest, fending off Naomi's first aid. The Spartan ran out of patience, grabbed him by one shoulder, and pinned him while she sprayed salve on his burns.' The Thursday War;_ Page 60, Chapter Eight.

Disclaimer: _Traviss, when's the final book going to be out? I need more fuel for my Naomi/Vaz fixation..._

Word Count: 790

Chapter Description: After returning from the botched search for Philips, Vaz finds himself in the care of Naomi.

* * *

"Stay still."

Despite her command, Vaz struggled against her, resisting the urge to wince as the movement agitated the burn on his shoulder. The armor had taken most of the brunt but not all, and Naomi's eyes narrowed.

"Do I have to pin you?" Her tone was mild despite the edge of annoyance. Vaz didn't doubt that she would and wondered if it was such a good idea to rile her up - he didn't want to risk damage from a Spartan still coming down from the rush of battle. His mouth ran away, however, pride overriding common sense.

"You're welcome to try," he said. All he got was the narrowing of pack-ice eyes before her hand found his shoulder and pulled, pinning him with ease.

"Don't be a baby," she murmured as he squirmed.

"They aren't that bad," he argued. Part of him was uncomfortable with her touching him, able to feel the warmth of her fingers through her glove on his shoulder. It wasn't against her, but a deep-rooted paranoia born from knowing that if something got ahold of you, it was more than likely an Elite and you wouldn't be living much longer.

Naomi stared, and the stony, unwavering look in her eyes suddenly melted. Guilt flashed, and Vaz's gut twisted. "None of us want to take a chance, Vasya." His gut twisted further, and he wondered if she was aware of the guilt-trip she was leading him down. Nobody else used the Russian short-form of his name. "Please."

His resolve shattered and he ceased his struggling, catching Mal's gaze over Naomi's shoulder. Mal bounced his eyebrows and grinned, ignoring the scowl on Vaz's lips and the furrowing of his brow. Mal's grin turned to a smirk. _Don't start,_ Vaz mouthed.

Mal simply bounced his eyebrows again and tossed him a suggestive wink that had Vaz wondering why he was friends with the older man. _Of course he'd get a kick out of this. Bastard._

But the expletive was without real venom and, were he not the one pinned, he could've seen the humor in it. Naomi eased off of him and tipped his head back. "Are you okay?"

_Are you?_ He wanted to ask, but her wounds weren't the physical kind, nothing that salve or shots could heal. Hers were the deep kind, the kind that ended with bleeding out in the most painful of ways. But that pain, he realized, was nothing new to her. Life for a Spartan was not easy by any definition, but in the span of just a few short weeks, life had gotten even more difficult for Naomi.

No longer could he see her as the terrifying Baba Yaga, or even as the Spartan that she was - when he looked at her, all he could see was a girl. A scared little girl who hid it behind a helmet and several hundred kilos of armor. No, he couldn't ask her if she was okay, not when he knew she wasn't. "I'll live," he told her, and cracked a weak smile. "I want a refund on my armor, though."

It had been meant as a joke, an attempt to see her smile. But smiling was not something Spartans did often, having very little reason to do it at all, if ever. But the frown on her lips looked less severe, and Vaz figured that had to count for something. She turned to leave, and he caught her wrist. It, like her hands, was surprisingly feminine, his fingers spanning the skin with little effort.

"Thank-you," he told her, and meant it. She stared at him, and he expected her to nod and to walk away. Instead, she slid her wrist through his grasp till their hands touched, and her fingers curled. A light squeeze, just the barest of pressure.

"You're welcome."


End file.
